First Impressions
by skrybble
Summary: ...Because you only get one. //“I was figuring you’d be all veiny and creepy, and stuff. You’re just a kid.”// Mission/Dustil, since no one can argue quite like teenagers can.


**A little oneshot based around my very favorite character to three-dimensional-ize, the younger Onasi. And everyone's favorite wisecracking non-kid. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: don't own KotOR

* * *

**

"_You should come with us, Dustil_," the boy muttered under his breath."_Help us save the galaxy, Dustil._"

The next moment he snorted, wishing that mimicking them would make him feel better. Oh, yeah, it had seemed great when his dad—who wasn't quite as bad as he'd thought—and that other woman—who stood a little too close to his dad for comfort, but Dustil wasn't going to think about that yet—had shown up to prompt an epiphany. He was no longer a Sith, and honestly, the whole idea of hanging around Korriban made him sick. It was nothing more than a graveyard for his best friend now.

So when Carth had invited him along, he'd leapt at the chance. It had nothing to do with family, contrary to what everyone seemed to think. He needed to get away from this goddamn planet.

He'd gotten out of the academy easily enough, with Uthar none the wiser that he wouldn't be coming back in. Needless to say, he'd been in a fairly good mood when he arrived at the cantina. That was, until they'd broken the news that they weren't staying to introduce him to the crew.

Apparently it looked suspicious if both of them disappeared in the same night. That was fair enough, until the woman threw in something about them being "_busy_" later and Carth went bright red. _Force,_ Dustil had been thinking, sitting there in horror,_ please, __he's my father__, I don't _want_ to know__ these things_...

Okay, fair enough. It had been five years since Telos, and Carth had been alone the whole time. But that didn't mean Dustil wanted to think about his dad like… well, doing…

He let out a huff of breath that was half frustration, half disgust, prompting a couple glances from bystanders. Their gazes, unusually, were curious rather than scared. He was used to his uniform buying him respect in the small colony, but for the sake of subtlety, he now wore street clothes. Minus the Sith status, he was starting to feel depressingly insignificant. He didn't regret his choice for an instant, of course, but that sure as hell wouldn't keep him from a bad mood.

He gave his spectators a murderous glare, and they hurriedly went back to pretending they were busy.

He was still scowling when he reached the docking bay, and only realized it as he turned through the exit to the ships. He paused, resting a hand on the doorframe. Maybe he was mad—Force, there was no_ maybe_ about it—but this was his new home. Sort of. He might as well try to make a good impression.

With a deep breath, he replaced the scowl with what he hoped was a friendly expression and began to walk to the docking bay. The ship was open when he arrived, and for some reason, that made him more nervous than if it had been closed. No noise came from the open hatch. He deliberated a moment, rocking back on his heels, and then made his way determinedly onto the Ebon Hawk.

The ship was worn, the metal walls patched and dented, but it was obvious that it had been built by someone with cash to spare. Anyway, if it was fast enough to have escaped Taris, then it must be worth a little wear and tear. He headed right, toward a larger central room.

When he reached the doorway, he stopped. There was someone in the room. It was a Twi'leki girl, a bright shade of turquoise, who sat on a couch with cards spread over her lap. A pazaak deck, he realized after a moment. Her brown eyes were fixed on it with an attention like that which Dustil had only ever devoted to his lightsaber (and, on some occasions, the legs of a few of the academy's female students).

He thought he had been quiet, but her head snapped up after a moment, the scrutinizing eyes fixing on him. Dustil wanted to shrink under the gaze, feeling a rush of unexpected shame. Who was he to invade her ship, when he was practically one of the enemy?

But to his surprise, the girl burst into a grin almost immediately. "Hi," she chirped. "You're Dustil, right? The geezer's kid? Yeah, Ana said you were coming. Are you seriously a Sith? You look kind of young, and I figured you'd be veiny-er or something. Isn't that what happens to Sith? I mean, you're a little pale, but you don't look _that_ bad. Well, better than I expected. You know."

All this was said on one breath, leaving Dustil feeling like he had just been run over by a hurricane. Two things registered.

"Hi," he echoed slowly, and then, "_Geezer_?"

The girl laughed brightly. It sounded like bells. Dustil considered how long it had been since he had heard either. "Right, my bad. Geezer's what I call your dad, 'cause he's old—not that old," she added quickly, "but, you know, old-ish." She paused, and then added, "So you're his kid?"

There was a note of skepticism in her voice that Dustil didn't miss. "What about it?" he replied, raising an eyebrow challengingly—an expression that he'd perfected over the years.

She shrugged quickly. "No, nothing. I mean, I guess I just kinda expected you… y'know, _scarier_. For a Sith and all."

Dustil's mouth dropped open, and he drew himself up taller automatically. "What do you mean, _scarier_?"

A light, unbidden grin was tugging at the girl's lips. "Well, you look so _normal_ is all. I was kinda picturing you with, like, a red lightsaber and… I dunno, a mask or something."

"A mask?" He snorted. "Hell, why don't I just get the jaw while I'm at it?"

Again, the laugh. He sort of liked the sound. It was inexplicably... _what_? _Welcoming_, he realized with a jolt. _Comforting._

"Well, yeah. I was figuring you'd be all veiny and creepy, and stuff. You're just a kid."

_Famous last words_. Dustil stared at her in disbelief. "I'm not a _kid_," he said contemptuously, standing up straighter again and trying to look older.

"How old are you?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Sixteen," Dustil replied; only just, for his birthday had been a month ago, but still. Unable to help himself, he added, "Older than you, I bet."

The girl spluttered, taken aback. As skillfully as if he had been wielding a sword, he danced in again, targeting the newfound weak point in her offense. "How old are you?" he asked, now the one who was grinning.

She mumbled something under her breath. When he raised his eyebrows expectantly, she repeated, "_Nearly_ fifteen."

"Fourteen."

"I'll be fifteen soon," she protested.

"But you're fourteen."

"Yeah."

"Kid," he declared, leaning against the doorframe.

He had meant it playfully, but it seemed he had touched a nerve. She bristled visibly, lekku twitching angrily as she snapped, "_I'm_ the kid?_ I'm_ not the one who's traveling with his dad!"

And, as she realized a second later, that was one step too far. He wasn't traveling with Carth because of _family_! Who the hell did this girl think she was, to act like she knew him? "That's just because your mom's too busy in the cantina," he snapped back. Mission flushed darker, going purple, and he was prompted to add, "So, does that make you the resident dancer, or what?"

"You just made yourself the resident bastard," she replied without missing a beat.

"Better than a cantina rat."

"Nerf-herding core-slime."

"Table-dancing schutta."

"'Least I don't smell like a Gammorean."

"At least I'm taller than a Jawa!"

"Well, at least I'm not a _Sith_!"

Total silence descended like a stage curtain. The two teenagers stared at each other, both glaring venomously. Dustil's teeth were gritted, and Mission realized after a moment that it was not entirely out of anger. Pain glinted in his eyes, as sharp as broken glass.

"I'm not a Sith," he said quietly.

She looked away, biting her lip. "I'm sorry."

Dustil still looked upset. He really should have seen it coming, especially when they started name-calling, but he didn't want to be thought of a Sith. He couldn't stand being one and the same with Selene's killers, even in the eyes of someone he'd just met.

He took a couple steps into the room, slumping down onto a couch. Mission gave him an uncertain glance. "I'm really—" she began.

"They killed my best friend," he said unexpectedly.

Mission stared. "The Sith," he clarified, although he couldn't think why he was telling her this. "She was one of the students, too. They had her killed so I'd make better progress." There was a pause, and then he repeated, "So I'm not a Sith, okay?"

"Okay," she replied, nodding. "Sorry."

"It's all right," he said, and to both their surprise, he grinned. It came out tentative. "You remind me a little of her, actually."

Mission blinked. "Your friend?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling as a faint grin formed on her lips. "Her name was Selene. She was a little younger than me, but she taught me every insult I know."

Mission was collecting her pazaak cards, shuffling them together with a thoughtful expression. He waited a long time for her to speak, feeling more and more nervous with every passing second. Finally she met his eyes again, and to his relief, hers were sparkling happily. "I'm Mission," she said with a smile. "Mission Vao."

"Dustil Onasi," he replied, still dizzy from the speed this conversation switched tempos.

There was a small pause, and then she asked softly, "You were good friends?"

He nodded, a small grin on his face as he remembered. "The best," he replied, and as their eyes met across the room, they both had no doubt that they would be as well.

* * *

**Aww. Gotta love Mission/Dustil--maybe it's not canon, but it _should_ be ;)**


End file.
